


A Ghost in the Archives

by RogueVigilante



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (I promise), Alternate Universe - Time Travel, And I think most of the gang want answers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Do they get them? Not really, Lonely!Martin, M/M, The Archives are Hunted, Time Travel Fix-It, minor season 5 spoilers, season 1 gang, switching pov between the season 1 gang
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:07:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29949732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RogueVigilante/pseuds/RogueVigilante
Summary: According to Sasha, Tim, and Martin, the Archives of the Magnus Institute are haunted. This latest theory might have something to do with the statements that move themselves, the marks and notes now found in margins that weren't there before, or that note on Tim's desk. Or it could be due to the fact that they've seen a mysterious white-haired figure that keeps vanishing without a trace.But when Jon spots something strange, his investigations lead him to a result that none of them could have imagined. Even with their new roommate refusing to explain anything beyond their strange, cryptic warnings about something big coming.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood & Sasha James & Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 26
Kudos: 83





	1. The Coming of Joe Spooky

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys, I'm back with another Time-Travel AU! (I swear that this one ends better than last time)
> 
> Updates will be Wednesday and Sunday. If you enjoy, please consider leaving a kudos and a comment:) I don't bite and they fuel me to keep writing.
> 
> Now onto the story. I hope you enjoy it.

Martin Blackwood didn’t exactly hate working alone in the Archives, as there is a peaceful quiet to the whole place. Nothing more than the gentle clicking of his keyboard and the rustling of paper when he flicks through the loose pages of statements and follow-ups. If he concentrates, he can hear the hum of the cheap fridge in the breakroom and the muffled droning of Jon in the office, recording another statement. There’s no reason he shouldn’t not like the quietness when Tim and Sasha are out researching. In fact, in all other places he’s worked, Martin never minded being alone. But whether it was the air conditioning being a fraction too cold, the way the piles of half-filled boxes seem to loom in the shadows, or the slight prickle on the back of his neck like he is being watched; Martin didn’t know.

It would help if either Tim or Sasha were here though, their laughter and noise filling the emptiness that lingers down here. Still, Martin knew that this whole thing was nothing more than his idle imagination bouncing off the nature of his new work. While the same feelings occasionally found themselves creeping up on him while in the library, Martin always knew he could just move to sorting the _Historical Figures – Biography_ sections and it would fade away.

Shaking his head and giving himself a small rub on his temple, Martin dismisses the feeling with a tense sigh. He still has to finish writing up this follow up report for Jon, something that he should have completed yesterday if it wasn’t for the computer crashing for the umpteenth time and wiping what he did. Jon had disappointedly muttered something about save files, like Martin hadn’t already been saving it every five minutes, before walking off with tut or a sigh. Martin couldn’t tell.

Taking a sip of cooling tea, Martin takes a moment to remember what he’d written yesterday. His notes were beside him, but he’d already been in a hurry to finish it, and several of the key sentences he’d expanded while writing. Resting his head in his hands, Martin tries to remember what he’d written, expect his mind responds with nothing more than swirling text on a white light that gives him a slight headache. He stops thinking about it, instead focusing on the sounds of the room once again, Jon’s continual drone worming its way into his head.

The prickle on his neck returns, the feeling of being watched resting once again on his back. Behind him there’s the slightest creak of the floorboards, a sound so faint that Martin would have missed it if he weren’t listening to the sounds of the room.

Wait. A creak?

Martin’s supposed to be alone here.

Martin flings his head around, looking at the gap behind him into the corridor. The motion causes his entire chair to spin, overshooting him slightly but giving him a very quick view of the entrance the work area from the corridor. Part of him expects to see Sasha or Tim, although neither of them would have been that quiet unless it was for another one of their ridiculous bets. Another part is expecting the cold gaze of Elias, wanting to talk to Jon about something paperworky. Or even one of the researchers or Artifact Storage guys, looking to perhaps find some old statement related to a new acquisition. What he isn’t expecting in an empty gap, the fleeting movement of a shadow disappearing back down the corridor towards the small work room where Jon occasionally recorded statements when the office was too noisy due to the shenanigans of Tim, Sasha, and himself.

“Hey,” Martin calls out, standing up from his chair. “Is anyone there?”

There’s no response from the figure in the hallway. No sound of retreating footsteps either. In fact, Martin’s not even sure that he saw anything, the moving shadow nothing more than a trick of the light. Still, he heads towards the entrance anyway, feet quietly stepping as to not make a sound as he walks across the wooden floor. He’s unsure why he’s doing this, why he doesn’t want to walk normally. Perhaps it’s the prickling feeling of being watched, the way that the shadows moved as if they didn’t want to be discovered. Perhaps he’s just hoping to catch out whoever is sneaking around the Archives, if there even is anyone here in the first place. Maybe he’s just hoping to be proven right.

Reaching the gap, Martin pauses for a moment before very quickly sticking his head out to look down the corridor towards the workroom. Honestly, he’s not expecting to see anything more than an empty corridor and his own imagination getting the better of him. Instead, he sees a shape, darting quickly around the corner at the end of the hall. From the briefest glimpse that Martin is able to get, he sees a tall figure, probably around his own height, wearing a faded red sweater and long, dark pants. They’re wearing a thick backpack, sturdy looking and made of a filthy olive-green canvas, obviously full of supplies. Their hair is pure white, falling down to around ear height. Then they’re gone, disappearing again around the corner. Martin wasn’t imagining it. There is someone in the Archives.

His quiet steps turn into a quick march as he heads down the corridor towards where the figure went. He knows he doesn’t need to hurry, as the only door around that corner leads into the small room from which there is nowhere to hide. Still, if there is someone down here without permission, best to not let them run around causing potential damage. Passing by the second entrance to the Archival Document Storage, recently having been painted yellow by what Martin assumes is part of some desperately needed updating, not that yellow is the colour he would have chosen, Martin wonders what he’s going to say to the figure when he catches them. Is he going to bother Jon with this? Probably best not.

Reaching the corner, Martin notes that the figure must have gone into the room. Although there’s been no sign of the door opening. Sighing, he pushes the door open.

“Look, whoever you are…” Martin begins, looking around the room before falling into a stuttering silence.

The room is empty.

Martin’s mind blanks, unsure what way to think first. He’s certain he saw something, someone down headed into this room. But there’s no one here, nothing more than a set of chairs and an empty table. The electric light overhead is on but doesn’t reveal any incriminating shadows that would indicate someone hiding under a desk or behind a chair. Plus, the ceiling is flat, no rafters there to pull yourself up into. In fact, there wasn’t anywhere else for the mysterious figure to have gone, after all, it’s not like they could have passed by Martin without him noticing. That left only one option, well two if you were willing to count either teleporting or invisibility. Martin must have imagined the whole thing. It’s the only answer that makes sense, the only one that works with the empty room staring back at him. He must be going crazy, cooped up here and stuck writing follow-ups about supernatural occurrences.

Martin turns, heading back to continue he work. It doesn’t help that that that yellow door is also gone, further convincing him that he imagined this whole thing.

* * *

Sasha James should have gone home hours ago. She should have turned off her computer when Tim and Martin did and left. All her work’s been completed and staying back late isn’t going to increase her pay. That doesn’t stop her sitting alone in the dim light of her desk. She isn’t alone in the Archives though, the dull light shining out from under the door across the corridor indicating that Jon is busy sorting through more piles of messy paperwork. But she’s not staying for him. Instead, she’s reading over one of the statements that she’d been given by Jon earlier that day.

Well, Jon had given it to Tim, but she might have decided to help him out with it. And by _help_ out, she meant straight up swap it for one that was most likely a side effect from mixing medication that shouldn’t be mixed. Or should, if you were looking for a good time. It’s one about a figure in a window, and the person who didn’t look the same anymore. The whole concept of this creature is interesting in a way Sasha can’t place, like a puzzle waiting to be solved. She’s planning on conducting an actual follow-up interview tomorrow, or organising for one to be conducted, as she doubts that anyone would appreciate her calling them this late at night.

Instead, she reaches for her mug of decaf instant coffee as she skims through the photographs that the Researchers had left her. The same smiling boy in all but one. The notebooks with those words scrawled over and over again.

_Keep Watching. Keep Watching. Keep Watching. Keep Watching. Keep Watching. Keep Watching. Keep Watching. Keep Watching. Keep Watching. Keep Watching. Keep Watching. Keep Watching. Keep Watching. Keep Watching. Keep Watching. Keep Watching. Keep Watching. Keep Watching. Keep Watching. Keep Watching. Keep Watching. Keep Watching. Keep Watching. Keep Watching. Keep Watching. Keep Watching. Keep Watching. Keep Watching. Keep Watching. Keep Watching._

Reading those words sends a small shiver up her spine, not helped by the large eye of the Institute’s logo looking down on her as she works. But it’s a sensation she’s used to at this point, one that’s lingered since she first moved down here when Gertrude was the Head Archivist. Although it’s hard to tell if the sensation has lessened or increased since Jon inherited the position after her disappearance. It’s more like it’s shifted in tone, weaker but more present than before. Like it doesn’t have to hide. Still, the change doesn’t bother her as much as it should, as it is most likely nothing more than a left over feeling from working in Artifact Storage as a practical researcher.

Compared to there, the quiet of the Archives is far safer and much friendlier. Plus, it’s fun to have Tim as a direct co-worker, and Martin’s nice to talk to. And despite everything, Sasha can tell Jon’s trying desperately to prove to everyone that he should be in his new position. She knows it’s not his fault that Elias is a sexist pig and Jon’s doing alright, although he is a little too harsh on Martin. Overall, it’s a nice environment, and if they could get Jon to be a bit more social and a bit less of a workaholic, Sasha can see the team being quite fun to work with. Not like Gertrude, with her smiles and secrets and conspiratorial actions.

Pushing the past from out of her head, Sasha tries to take a sip of her coffee, finding the mug empty. Perhaps this is a sign that she should go home, she should figure it all out in the morning. Or she could make herself another cup. It’s not a hard choice. Deciding on the latter, Sasha stands, giving a brief stretch, and heads into the small kitchen off to the side of the main area. The kettle sits, half full of now cool water, beside two cups resting upside-down on the draining rack, the last remnants of Martin’s latest cups of tea. Flicking the kettle on, Sasha grabs down the nearly empty plastic pot of cheap decaf. She turns for a moment, surveying the dim room and the bright light from both her desk light and her computer, the light being blocked in such a way that makes it look like there is a person standing beside her desk.

Concentrating on the way the shadows and lights glow, she can almost imagine them, tall and large, dark sweater and shining white hair. The figure leans over her notes, almost rifling through them with a delicate but silent touch. Sasha stands there, watching. It reminds her of the game she used to play as a child, one where the shadows of her room became shapes and creatures. Things that definitely were not in her room, but it was fun to imagine they were anyway. The kettle whistles loudly, breaking Sasha out of the trance she had accidently put herself in. Shaking her head, she turns, filling her mug with hot water and giving the brown liquid a stir. Reaching into the fridge reveals that the last of the milk is gone. Knowing that this means it will be too hot to drink for a while, Sasha instead breathes in the fumes rising, hoping that it’s enough to wake her up. It’s a little better than nothing.

Turning back to head towards her desk, Sasha can’t see the figure anymore. But that was how the game worked, break eye contact and you lose it. Although, she can’t see any hint of it. Nothing that would have caused the shine of white hair, nothing that would have caused the deepening of the shadows, nothing that would have created the shapes she saw. She’s tempted to write this off as her tiredness, the fact that she should be home right now, curled on the couch and the television humming in the background.

Then she reaches her desk, that idea that this is her imagination vanishes like a shadow under a light. Something’s moved her papers. The picture of the different kid, the one who matches the description given in the statement, now lies on top of the pile of paper, the statement under it. Even so, she might have been willing to pretend that that’s how she left her desk, if it wasn’t for a new mark on the statement, and mark that Sasha is certain wasn’t there when she left to get her coffee, a singular word underlined. Polaroid.

Staring that the paper, Sasha doesn’t know what to think, what to do. Someone was clearly in the Archives, yet they entered and left without making a sound. They looked through her papers, marking and moving them with an expertise that almost suggested that they knew what they were looking for. Was this a message, a hint, a warning? Or was this some elaborate practical joke? Normally Sasha would have some form of an answer, some theory that connects everything. Except her mind fogs and strains with the effort of connecting everything.

Sasha’s obviously too tired for this. She heads home.

* * *

Tim Stoker knows that the Archives are haunted. Well, he thinks they are anyway. Whether it’s the strange every watching ominous presence or the fact that something keeps moving things, all the signs point towards a haunting of some kind. That, and the fact that once, when Tim fell asleep at his desk, he awoke to find a blanket around his shoulders and a beautifully handwritten note detailing how, if Tim desired it, to authorise his own expense reports. It included a handy little sidenote about how Elias sees everything that happens in the Institute, so he’d get one shot and he’d better make it expensive. Not that Tim was complaining or anything, there was a new restaurant that he’s been meaning to try out, and a particular date who would enjoy it immensely.

He’s pretty sure that this wasn’t the work of any of the other Assistants though. Sasha, the only one who could probably hack into the system and get that sort of information, was out on that day. Plus, this wasn’t something that Tim could see either Jon or Martin doing. Jon would call it _unprofessional_ and Martin was too busy finding his feet. According to Jon, no-one else had entered the Archives that day. That just left the only other option. The Archives were haunted by a mysterious figure, one who Tim had fondly dubbed as Joe Spooky. It had been the name Danny always used when he joked about the places he’d visited being haunted. Or if something had gone suddenly missing or had just fallen over. It was a private joke between them, usually accompanied by elbow-ribbing and laughter. When he’d first dubbed the ghost Joe Spooky, it had been instinctual. Despite everything, it just seemed right. Then he’d realised what he’d done, accompanied by the wave of grief and sadness that usually arose whenever Tim thought about his brother, and had considered changing the name. Pick something different, something new. But he didn’t. Danny would prefer the tradition to live on.

After that initial incident, Tim started to notice the signs. Again and again, he saw it. Little things, the tea being restoked without anyone having done it, the kitchen being cleaned regularly, shadows moving unnaturally when Tim was leaving, boxes being moved in the Archival Storage area. Statements, ones that continued to mess up the digital recordings, that were initially half-way down the pile were now placed at the top of the pile. Occasionally a sentence or name would be underlined with no explanation, like it mattered for some unknown reason. All of these occurrences could have just been a combination of miscommunication the rest of the team moving things. But for some reason, that felt wrong to Tim. Maybe he just wanted at least one Joe Spooky to be real.

Perhaps that’s the reason Tim never mentioned Joe Spooky to Sasha or Martin. He didn’t know how Martin would react, and Sasha is smart enough to poke holes in his little theory.

Tim’s about half-way through taking notes about a statement when Sasha wheels up to him, her chair bumping into his as she overshoots her mark.

“If you want help on that Timothy Hodge statement, I want to remind you that you picked the piles this time,” he smiles at her.

Sasha looks nervous, worried even. It’s something about the way she holds herself, the way she glances at the floor before looking at him. Jon’s in his office and Martin’s in the Archive’s storage area, so it’s just the two of them alone here. In all the time that Tim has known Sasha, he’s not seen her look like this. Something’s wrong.

“It’s not that…” She starts, pausing for a moment as she considers her next words. “It’s just, have you noticed anything weird happening?”

“In the Magnus Institute?” Tim responds incredulously before he can stop himself.

Odd things happened at the Magnus Institute all the time, a side effect of their research no doubt. In fact, it was a private joke among more than a few staff members that perfectly normal things could instead be part of some grand strange tale. Although they tended to end up as inside jokes within departments, and Tim’s not sure what one Sasha knows. He's sure that she doesn't know the Research one about the Jonah Magnus portrait at the end of the upstairs hall. Hearing his words, Sasha’s face falls in a way that Tim can’t read, which is odd. He’s normally pretty good at reading Sasha.

“Did you have a run in with _Joe Spooky_?” He continues speaking, not really thinking about his words and more concerned with Sasha. Also, Joe was still on his mind from earlier that day.

“Joe Spooky?”

There’s a pause to her words, a careful consideration to her question. She knows that it’s part of a joke, one she doesn’t quite get but still appreciates the effort of. That’s when Tim realises what he’s said. That he’s mentioned Joe out loud for the first time in how many years? It was always a private joke, one between brothers. But Sasha is a dear friend and deserves an explanation. Perhaps it is time for Joe Spooky to rise from the dead again, pun intended.

“Sorry. That’s what Danny called…” He begins, falling into silence, not sure how to explain everything in a single sentence. Not sure if he’s even ready to share such a personal and well-loved inside joke. Sasha understands, he'd told her what happened to Danny about a year ago after a particularly bad Research case.

“Oh…” She responds, her tone dropping. There’s a moment of silence, the pair thinking, before Sasha turns to face Tim, eye’s alight with interest. “Well tell me, what does Joe Spooky do?”

Even if she’s just humouring him, Tim’s grateful. He might not be ready to tell her about his theory that Joe is actually real, but he’s glad he has someone else to share the joke with. Danny would be proud that Sasha is the one carrying on his story, she deserves it. Perhaps she might even have some wonderful additions to what he’s been up to in the time that Tim’s carried him alone.

“Everything. He’s a regular old haunting ghost.” Tim smiles, leaning back on his chair with arms extended, pushing that shadow to the back of his mind.

“Messing with the statements? Is that something he does?”

Wait, messing with the statements? This wasn’t Sasha looking for a laugh. In his distractions about Danny and Joe, Tim had forgotten how Sasha looked when she started this conversation. She’d been worried. Like she had some secret, and she wasn’t sure if she’d found something or had gone completely crazy. Like she’d noticed the same things too. Did that mean that Joe Spooky was real? That something else was happening here that was more than the stress that Gertrude had left them.

“You’ve noticed it too?” He mutters with excitement, leaning in close almost conspiratorially.

“Once or twice. Check this out.” Sasha smiles as she says this, like a weight dropping from her mind. Reaching into her desk, she pulls out a statement and hands it to Tim “Your Joe left it when I was working late last week.”

Looking over the statement, Tim notices it as the one Sasha stole of him last week. At the bottom, a single word is underlined in a thick black scribble. Polaroid. In all the statement tampering that he’s seen, there’s been nothing like this. Always it has been a thin, careful line or circle, neatly pointing out something. Occasionally they’d be a word, written in a handwriting so precise that Tim’s sure someone is using it to hide their handwriting, linking it to some other statement. Jon kept blaming Martin. Especially when the statements seemed unconnected. Although the determination behind this line gives Tim gets the distinct feeling that that word is important. Why though, that’s anyone’s guess.

“Any idea what it means?” Tim eventually voices.

“None,” Sasha responds, taking the paper back before continuing. “I would have ignored it if it weren’t for the fact that this isn’t the only mark I’ve seen like this. Plus, I swear the Hodge statement was half-way down the pile when I received it. Now it’s at the top.”

It’s the same as what Tim’s been noticing these past two weeks. The handful of marks, the moved statements. It’s proof of Joe Spooky.

“What did you find?” Sasha interrupts his thoughts, clearly realising that Tim also noticed what she had. He sees the gleam in her eye, the desire for more knowledge and to get to the bottom of this mystery.

“Same as you. Plus, this.” Tim responds, pulling out the note he’s got tucked away in the top drawer of his desk. “And the fact the tea keeps restocking itself.”

“You certain his name isn’t Joe Blackwood?” Sasha counters with a smile, and Tim can’t help but snicker at the idea. Perhaps all this ghost wanted was to take over Martin’s spot of the Archives tea maker?

Sasha turns the paper over in her hands, examining that same precise handwriting, reading the instructions. There’s that same glint in her eyes as she returns it. The deepening of a mystery and the chance to get some minor payback on Elias.

“But seriously, who would have done this?” She asks, handing it back to Tim. “And more importantly, have you used it yet?”

“No idea, and I’ve got a date next week,” Tim laughs. The conversation falls for a moment as Tim notices that Sasha is staring at that statement she’s holding in her hands, staring at that single word like it’s hypnotised her. “Sash. What is it?”

Sasha pauses, considering her words before answering. He gets the distinct impression that all of this could be dismissed by vindictive or pranking employees, that this could all be a part of some huge joke. And Sasha’s worried about this, worried about being pulled into something she believes is real. Worried that she’s crazy. Tim wants to grab her hand, tell her he believes her, and that this is some huge joke then they can be got together. She looks at him, her mind made up.

“I think I’ve seen him,” she says, her voice dropping back down to a quiet tone.

“Wait. Really?!”

Tim’s voice did little to hide his shock and excitement. Compared to Sasha’s statement, it echoed around the room in such a way that Jon definitely heard it.

“It was late at night and I don’t know if…” Sasha hurriedly interrupts, as if she’s unsure about the whole thing and doesn’t want Tim getting any ideas.

It’s too late for that though, this is the first real sighting of Joe Spooky and Tim wants the details. Wait until Danny hears about this.

“What did he look like?”

“Tall. White hair. It was dark so I didn’t see much. I honestly thought I’d imagined the whole thing.”

“What’s this about white hair?”

A voice interrupts them from the entrance. Martin stands there, face peering out from above three boxes stuffed full of paperwork. It sticks out the side as he stands there, clearly having eavesdropped on that last sentence of the conversation. Tim and Sasha share a glance, each one asking the other if they want to keep this a secret or tell Martin. Which would be more useful if both of them weren’t looking at each other and silently saying “your call” back and forth. By the time Tim looks back at Martin, he’s placing the boxes down in an already crowded corner of the room.

“Hey Martin,” Tim replies, making the split-second decision to bring Martin in on this. Maybe he’s also seen something. After all, it’s not like they’d be getting anything from Jon. “Sash was telling us about _Joe Spooky_.”

Martin straightens, face falling into a distant stare like he can’t believe what he’s heard. There’s a brief flash of conflict on his face, an internal struggle as if the name means something to him. In a moment, it’s gone, replaced by amazement and confusion.

“Large, red sweater, white hair?” Martin stutters out. “He’s real?”

Tim stares. Martin has seen Joe Spooky too? Was Tim the only person he hadn’t seen him yet? Was Jon about to come out of the office and suddenly profess to having had tea with Joe and that he now believes in the supernatural. Or believes in the same way that he believed when they worked together in Research.

“You’ve seen him too?” Sasha interrupts, voicing Tim’s thoughts.

Martin nods vigorously, moving over to take his own seat.

“I thought I saw someone, but they vanished on me.”

His voice is uneasy, like he doesn’t quite believe it. A quiet tone that speaks of a wild imagination and too much stress. But Tim believes him. With everything Tim thinks he’s seen and with Sasha also noticing the same figure, it’s proof that the Archives are haunted. His smile widens, joy bubbling up in his stomach that he can’t quite contain. As this happens, Martin wheels around, the three of them forming into the tight little bubble that normally happens when they start slacking off.

“But that means…” Sasha begins slowly, but Tim interrupts her, throwing his arms in celebration around Sasha and Martin.

“Well, that’s it, the Archives are officially haunted by the ghost of Joe Spooky!”

It might not be the right mood for this situation, or even the right words to say. But Tim’s riding the high of being right, and the sound of Sasha and Martin dissolving into giggles makes it worth it. Danny would be proud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea if anyone else played that shadow-shapes game, but I remember having a lot of fun as a kid doing it.


	2. An Illogical Explaination

Jonathan Sims wants to believe that there’s a rational explanation for everything that’s happening in his Archives. The fact that Tim, Sasha, and Martin have all simultaneously decided that it’s a ghost named Joe Spooky isn’t helping. According to them, this Joe Spooky is responsible for everything that’s been happening in the Archives over the last month or so. It doesn’t matter if it’s a computer crashing after Martin forgot to save his work again, to walking into document storage to find it in a worse state complete disarray than before, to the writing on some of the Statements, Joe Spooky is apparently to blame. It had even apparently vandalised the walls of the Magnus Institute one night, crossing right through the Institute’s logo on the wall with something sharp. Elias was not amused, and Jon is determined to not face that lecture again. Especially so soon after receiving another disapproving lecture about controlling his assistants after Tim had somehow hacked into the Institute’s mainframe and spent an exorbitant amount of money. Tim had also tried to blame that incident on Joe Spooky.

They’d all tried to bring him in on the joke, ask him his theories, get his opinions. But each time, Jon had dismissed them with a disapproving frown. The face of someone who didn’t believe a word they said. Of course, Tim had joked about how one day they’re going to prove it all to him. That they're going to catch Joe Spooky and bring him to Jon. That he’s finally going to concede that the supernatural and esoteric does exist.

Except, privately, Jon’s not sure that they’re wrong. Outwardly he denies everything, his defence mechanism against that strange watchful presence that’s been looking at him ever since he accepted the promotion. That prickle on the back of his neck of someone staring directly at him. But inward, in the quiet of his home and far away from eyes of the Magnus Institute, Jon lets himself believe. Let’s himself believe in the briefest time between seconds that there’s something else going on here. That there might not be a logical explanation for the things he’s seen. That, God forbid, the Archives are _haunted_.

Except there usually is a logical explanation for everything Joe's apparently done. From all the things that Jon has noticed, to what Tim, Sasha, and Martin have told him about, they’ve all been simple things that could easily be explained away. From misremembering details, to tricks of the light combined with not enough sleep, to a practical joke. Always it’s been little things, marks on paper and statements moved. No hovering mugs, no messages scrawled on the wall in blood. No-one’s movements being forced as if they are some living puppet. Thinking about that last one always sends a slight shiver down his spine and a voice whispering in his ear.

_It’s polite to knock_.

But nothing Jon’s seen gives him any reason to believe that it’s Leitner’s doing. After everyone’s gone home, he occasionally does a quick check their drawers though, just to be safe. No, if he wanted to believe without a doubt that it’s real, then the signs would point to another person being in the Archives. A person that, despite Martin and Sasha’s claims, has not been spotted in the month that all this has been happening in. In fact, Jon would have completely disbelieved it, chalked it up to either a joke by Tim or Martin’s inability to do his job, if it weren’t for the tea and blankets.

On a number of occasions, Jon had found himself working late at in the Archives, either recording statement after statement, or just trying to understand the mess that Gertrude Robinson thought it was okay to leave him. And on occasion, he’d closed his eyes for the briefest moment, sometimes accidently drifting off into a short nap. Or he’d left the room to just grab another box or some forgotten notes. The result was the same though, for when he returned or opened his eyes, a cup of steaming hot tea was waiting for him, one he’s certain he didn’t have earlier or make for himself. Occasionally, they’d also be a blanket wrapped around his shoulder. A nice woollen one that Jon’s certain isn’t from the small threadbare collection by the cot. And just once or twice, very occasionally, the presence in the room would shift, that strange watchfulness replaced by a calm but comforting quiet.

Still, none of that really proves anything, proves that the existence of _Joe Spooky_ is more than idle speculation. Was he going to have to call it that now? Adopt that almost jovial name that either Tim, Sasha, or Martin invented? Out of the three of them, Jon heavily suspects that it’s Tim who came up with this name, it seems his style. Even calling it something plain and simple like Ghost seems to Jon as if he’s admitting that that’s what it is. But it was better that _Mysterious Stranger that might be living in the Archives but also might not exist_ , and after a few days of considering his options, the name of Ghost had firmly lodged its way into his mind. Not that he’d ever admit it out loud though. No, out loud, Jonathan Sims always found some explanation that could explain this supernatural occurrence.

He just wished that there was something about this whole situation that didn’t put him on edge.

* * *

The streets of London are cold by the time Jon leaves work. The gentle drizzle from the morning has stopped, instead replaced by a brisk wind that winds its way through the streets. The dark clouds haven’t left though, deepening their colour in the night sky, and contrasted against the yellowish glow of the streetlights. Pulling his coat around him to protect himself from the cold, Jon walks quickly in the direction of the nearest tube station. It’s not too far away, and luckily the trains run quite late into the night. However, even they have their limits, and on more than one occasion Jon had found himself missing the last train that departed at what he would still consider a reasonable time, even if Tim and Sasha disagreed. In those cases, it was easier to sleep in that cot hidden at the back of the Magnus Institute's Archives. However, he’d left enough time that tonight would most definitely be spent at home.

Still, the increase in pace helps to keep the cold at bay as Jon walks, satchel bag banging against his leg in a rhythmic pattern. His mind falls to the contents of his satchel, the several files stuffed neatly inside it. Just because he was planning on having a rare Saturday at home, with a mug of mediocre tea and a comfortable shirt, doesn’t mean that he still couldn’t get some work done. Some of the statements just needed to be recorded, while a few had some minor details to follow up on, things he knew he could do at home. He’d already handed the more skilled ones, ones that likely required either a better technical knowledge, police _cooperation_ , or anything more than a quick Google search, to Sasha and Tim. Martin had gotten a majority of the rest while Jon had snagged a few to do himself. He didn’t exactly have time to be falling back into old research habits, but it would be a nice break from organising the mess left by Gertrude Robinson. The only way that this mess could have been worse would be if it were intentional.

But that doesn’t matter now, Jon’s somehow the Head Archivist and he needs to prove to Elias that he made the right choice. Or did he need to prove that to himself, considering practically everybody in the Institute knew that Sasha was more qualified? And if that meant staying way too late organising or taking his work home, then he would do it. Plus, there was the fact that a few of the Statements seemed connected, like a jigsaw puzzle with only a few pieces in the box. They could be connected, could be a part of some larger picture, or Jon could just be imagining it all, drawing lines and connections where there were none. It helped that all the statements that Jon suspected might be true recorded only onto the tape. Although he didn’t know how he'd come to that conclusion. Maybe he could just feel it, deep in his bones, as he tried to make sense of it all. Perhaps some of the ones he’s taken home will also fail to record digitally, and Jon could have some time to think about it all without the ever-watchful presence of the Archives.

Not slowing his pace, Jon flips open his satchel to scan the contents. He wouldn’t be able to scan them until he is on the train, but just thinking about it makes him want to look, to peak at statements that have the slimmest hope of being true. His satchel is empty.

Well, not empty empty, just devoid of that familiar white paper and yellow folders. Stopping, Jon rummages through everything in a futile attempt to assume he’s wrong. He’s not. He’s forgotten the papers, probably having left them on his desk when he left for the evening. That means they’re neatly stacked on his desk, taunting him as they slowly become untouchable for the weekend, like some cosmic sign from a higher power that Jon should spend the weekend mooching around and sleeping in. Honestly, the option is tempting, a rare lazy day in his small apartment, spending the entire day without any form or responsibility and watching daytime television that even Tim or Martin would be horrified with. Or he could turn back for the papers.

Glancing at his watch, Jon sees that there’s plenty of time before the last reasonable train. He has enough time to turn back, enough time to retrieve the files and head home. Or he could keep walking and resign himself to a restful Saturday. Either way, he’s not going into the office tomorrow. Making up his mind far quicker than he should, Jon turns back towards the Magnus Institute. As wonderful as a lazy day sounds, he has a job to do and work that is quite literally piling up on his desk. Also, he knows that Sasha would be working from home tomorrow, and the fact that he would be mooching off while she works makes him feel mildly guilty. No, he has a job to do and until it’s done, Jon doesn’t get to rest. Sighing, starts walking briskly again back the way he came, pulling his coat tighter against the cold.

The Magnus Institute is abandoned be the time Jon reaches it. The dark front desk looms out of the shadows behind the large oak and glass doors. Sliding his key into the lock, Jon opens the door, pausing momentarily to check if the alarm is disabled. It is, which means that someone else is working late tonight, probably one of the Practical Researchers doing some late-night observations on one of the artifacts down in storage. Moving quickly in the familiar darkness, Jon descends down the steps towards the Archives. He doesn’t need a light; the place has never been dark enough that he needs help to see his way around. Even in the Archives, the familiar gloom lit by the low lights of blinking electronics and a light spilling out from the kitchen.

Jon pauses, staring as he stands at the entrance to the main working area of the Archives. He could have sworn that he was the last person out this evening, and that when he left, he’d turned all the lights off. Yet clearly, he was wrong. Lucky he came back then, Jon finds himself thinking, dreading what would happen if he’d left that light on all weekend. It would probably be nothing more than a lecture from Elias about how the Institute may have many fine backers, but they weren’t made of money and electricity isn’t cheap. Not that Jon’s afraid of Elias, just that he needs to prove he deserves the job, and Elias’s lectures can be unsettling with the way he seems to stare down at you with those grey eyes.

Shaking his head, Jon snaps himself out of that thought train, and heads towards the kitchen. Maybe it was one of the practical researchers looking for a cup of cheap coffee or a biscuit, the upstairs kitchen having run out? That made more sense to Jon. As he reaches the door, he spots a figure standing in the light. The figure is large, tall in a familiar way as the stand in front of the kettle. Under the light of the kitchen glare, Jon can see that they’re wearing a white shirt and a sleeveless green sweater vest above sturdy denim jeans, their reddish hair glowing white under a light that looks much harsher in the darkness than it actually is. Jon recognises them instantly.

“Martin?” He says to the figure, incredulous.

What was Martin doing here? Why was he in the Archives now? If it was Tim or Sasha, Jon might have been impressed by their work ethic, but this was Martin instead. According to all of his assumptions, Martin should be curled up at home with a tea and a blanket doing God knows what Martin’s normal routine is. Instead, he’s here, making a cup of tea in the Archives miniscule kitchen. It almost doesn’t make sense. Jon wants answers, and he wants them now.

Hearing his voice, Martin jolts, standing upright and freezing, his back still turned towards Jon. Unmoving, like a rabbit caught in the headlights. Jon gets the distinct impression that Martin didn’t want to be caught down here. That he’d expecting Jon to have gone home. And if Jon hadn’t forgotten those files, he’d have been right.

“For God’s sake Martin, what are you still doing down here?” Jon asks again, louder this time and slightly more annoyed.

It was one thing for Martin to be easily distracted during some of his follow up abilities, especially when talking with other people, but another thing entirely for him to be sneaking around the Archives after everyone else has gone home. Martin though, doesn’t move, standing in the light almost motionless. Staring at him, Jon realises that there’s something wrong about him. He’s not sure what it is though. Maybe it’s the way he’s holding himself, the way that the outline doesn’t look exactly like him, the way that the shine of the light seems to wash out his hair.

Jon’s head is suddenly filled with a blinding static. A white and grey fuzz of pain and noise that creeps into every corner of his mind, blanking it out with nothing more than a rumbling hum between his ears. It’s everywhere, a building pressure that feels like it should hurt. White and grey. White and grey. Pure Static. Instinctively, Jon shuts his eyes, rubbing them with the palms of his hands in a feeble attempt to get the static out of his head. Or even just release the pressure that he’s feeling. It doesn’t help. It just keeps building and blinding him, Jon can’t say how long the feeling goes on for, it feels like an eternity. Although, it also seems like little more than a few moments. Then, a suddenly as the feeling started, it’s gone, evaporating like a mist in the summer sun. Jon opens his eyes, slightly cautious as he doesn’t want the sensation to come back. It doesn’t.

But the kitchen is empty.

Jon stares, the realisation that Martin is no longer there. But that was impossible, Jon is standing in the middle of the entrance, the only way out would have been for Martin to push past Jon. Even in the white and grey of that strange sensation, Jon knows he didn’t feel anyone brush past him. Yet he must have. Jon reaches forward tentatively, feeling the air before him as he takes slow step after slow step towards the place where Martin once stood. He’s not sure if he wants to feel anything though. Luckily, he doesn’t, reaching the bench without any sign of Martin. Spinning around, the Archives are still a dark, deserted quiet. No shapes of Martin in sight. The Archives are deserted.

Shaking his head, Jon tries to shake the sensation from his mind, tries to convince himself he’s not insane. This must have been some sort of late-night hallucination or something similar. His imagination running wild. Jon pointedly does not think of the stories about the _Archival Ghost, Mr Joe Spooky_ that Tim, Sasha, and Martin have been throwing around. That was impossible, wasn’t it? This is nothing more than a late night hallucination? At that moment, the kettle whistles, drawing attention to the singular mug resting on the bench and the open tea bag sachet beside it. Proof that someone was there. That until moments ago, the Archives were not deserted.

Jon stares at the kettle, the mug, and the teabag, for a very long time. Long enough for the water in the kettle to cool considerably. As he stares, he’s thinking. Different possibilities and explanations running through his mind, different reasons for Martin being there and then suddenly not. Reasons for what he just saw. None of them are rational, none of them are even possible. But that doesn’t stop him thinking and staring and trying very hard not to panic. Trying hard to stay composed. By the time he manages to shake the feelings and thoughts from his head, he’s missed what he would call the last reasonable train. But for the first time in a long time, Jon doesn’t want to stay here the night, and is willing to wait in the cold and the dark with the drunks for his train to finally take him home. He turns and leaves, leaving the papers abandoned and forgotten on his desk.

The incident plays heavily on his mind throughout the weekend, and Jon finding himself curled up on the couch in a comfortable shirt and just thinking. The television plays a mumbling noise in the background that Jon can’t concentrate on. All he can concentrate on is the figure he knows he saw. The Martin that all of a sudden vanished on him without explanation. Eventually, perhaps much slower than he would have liked but understandable in the circumstance, Jon makes up his mind to ask Martin about it on Monday, to find out what exactly happened from his perspective. Perhaps there is a reasonable explanation, something that Jon’s missed in his slightly sleep deprived state.

And if there’s nothing, if Martin isn’t willing to talk about it then Jon’s going to have to get to the bottom of this himself. Somehow though, he doesn’t think it will come to that.


End file.
